


Pet

by Punk_in_Docs



Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Attempted Sexual Assault, Dom/sub Undertones, Domestic Violence, Dominance, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Forbidden, Forbidden Love, Hiding, Light Dom/sub, Minor Violence, One-Sided Attraction, Passion, Past Relationship(s), Rough Kissing, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sex, Sexy Thomas, Sexy Times, Teen Pregnancy, True Love, but not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-10 00:11:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5561269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Punk_in_Docs/pseuds/Punk_in_Docs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Goodbye, Pet. Or should I say, Goodbye, Elizabeth Knight. Lady of my dreams.” She turned at that, and glowered across at him from the door. </p><p>“Name’s Tom.” He smiled. She scoffed, turning away. Cocky wanker...</p><p>“Come see me again.” He demanded to the back of her soggy red head.</p><p>“Bye, prick..” </p><p>“Later, Pet.” He smirked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pain and Payne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was intended to be the 4th chapter before I took it down... So I thought I'd move it to the front. Interesting start I thought...

  


  


~ Dublin, Ireland. ~

 

The shouts of pain echoed high to the empty wharehouse ceiling. It was dark outside, and no one of repute was around to hear.

Thomas groaned again as the man’s fist once again ploughed into his stomach. The sickening thud and the pain that followed, he growled through as he spat his answer once again. Panting and snarling through the beating. Leaning over to try and quell the pain, before leaning, and spreading his body back into the bracket of the chair.

He couldn’t fight back. That’s what was worse. The bastard in front of him was a coward. Because Thomas was the deadliest man in a fight this side of Tullamore, but no. Max couldn’t deal with that. He’d had two of his henchmen cuff Thomas, hands bound behind his back, into a chair. Torn his grubby vest off, and proceeded to beat him within an inch of his life.

“Tell.Me…”

Max demanded again, American voice low and deadly, standing over Thomas like an angry statue. His face steeled in hatred. Chest pounding, eyes wild with the lust for violence. His impeccable shirt sleeves rolled up his arm. Thomas’s blood on his knuckles. And spittle glistening on his handsome lips where he was shouting at the abused man. Circling him, pacing, like a caged beast, seeking release.

“I’m _not_ telling you _anything_.”

Thomas held out, rasping. In pain, in a low gentle voice, but mostly in anger. His face was gushing blood, from a split lip, a gash in his eyebrow, and a dark black bruise making his right eye throb. His muscles strained at his bonds, and his sweat covered torso pulled and tugged as he growled in rage. He was dam sure his right cheekbone and his jaw had been fractured from the pummelling the man gave him earlier, moving down his body when he didn’t get the answer he required.

That earned him another snarl from max, which is torn from his lips as the man tore into his shoulder, wrenching it forwards to shove his fist, hard, shoving up into the Tom’s ribs. Instantly winding him and making him double over. Leaning down. Max watched as the man just panted, his body shaking both in rage and pain, his medium length black hair drooping over his head, as his neck and shoulders were bent, under the harsh severity of the one spotlight hanging far above them. Max could see Tom’s muscles ripple, making his Celtic tattoo’s swirl with movement on his sweat dripping, blood spattered, and bruised skin.

“I will kill you, if you do not tell me, where she is, O’Grady.” Max assured him.

“Then kill me, Max. Could I can carry on doing this all fucking day, I’m still not telling you where she is.”

He persisted. Head hung low. Body ringing In pain and fury.

“There’s that stubborn Irish flair…”

Max growled, before he stalked forwards, and he grabbed a fistful of Tom’s ink black hair, tearing his head up, as he crouched, leaning close to him. Forcing eye contact with his remaining un-blackened eye, which burned his raging frenzy at the man who had beaten him. Max looked ugly, even in his anger, his nostrils flared and that easy going allure he held, was poisoned by the wrath now evident on his features.

“She had that flair to, you know. _Oh_ , that little bitch put up quite a little fight right to the end. But how she purred and moaned for me when I _finally_ got her on her back.” Max sneered.

Tom’s body tensed. And if looks could kill, then max would have already been lying in a pool of his own cold blood, stone dead, because of the glare from the Irishman’s eyes.

“Don’t you dare..”

Tom warned in a dangerous and deep reedy voice, that could have shredded steel. His hands clenched into fists against his bonds, his muscles screaming in tense pain to be freed so he could beat this man til there was not a breath left in him for what he had done. 

_Ah, a sore point, at last,_ Max grimaced with a sickening grin.  


“She’s a _hellcat_ in the sack you know. I bet you didn’t know did you. Why would you? She has a very _dirty_ little mouth. I adored seeing her little pink lips wrapped around my cock, those big blue eyes staring up at me when she deep throated. And the scent on her hair… _mmm._ Heavenly… I’m really gonna miss how she looks pinned under me when I _fuck_ the life out of her…”

Max smiled, leaning in to spit and snarl his words into Thomas’s ear.

What Max hadn’t been counting on, was that he had no bonds securing down toms upper body. So it was perfectly easy for the man, as Max leant so close, to tug his head back after a long angered sigh and slam it into the man’s face. Feeling a twinge of satisfaction as he felt and heard something break.

Thomas smiled seeing Max now sprawled on the floor, blood gushing down his nose, over his chin.

The two men stood in the shadows behind him tried to help him up. But he snarled and shouted and shoved them away. The blood dripping onto his pristine shirt. As Thomas surveyed him like a proud victor in their fight.

“I gave you a fair warning.” Thomas growled.

“Nice nose.” He smirked, panting. Referring to how Max’s nose now sat crooked on his face.

He stalked forwards, ugly nostrils flaring as he wiped blood away and smacked Thomas hard across the cheek. Before bringing his sharp jaw in his hand, wrenching it in his direction and making him look at his enemy.

“You won’t be laughing when I’m done with you.” Max seethed.

“It’s like I said…” Thomas spoke up.

“I could do this all fucking day. You can beat me, you can thrash me, shoot me, stab me, I don’t care. It’s a drop in the ocean to me. I will _never_ tell you where she is, she’s safe you’ll never lay eyes on her again. You’re just gonna have to kill me, Payne.” He spoke slowly.

“I have men out searching high and low for her.”

“She’s smart, the likes of them, won’t find her. Your men have one shared brain cell between them.” He assured.

“They will track her down. She’s bound to show herself eventually. And do you know what I’m gonna do with her then?”

Max asked, sinking to a crouch in front of him, having made sure their eye contact would remain.

“I’m gonna haul her back here, maybe even knock her about a bit, to teach her a lesson, bloody her up. Then. I’ll keep you handcuffed to that chair. I’ll strip her naked, and I’ll make you watch as I fuck her in front of your very eyes.” He promised.

Thomas did nothing.

But raise his head back, and he spat directly into Max’s face.

The man growled as he wiped it away. Snarling as he clenched his fist, turning to the four men behind him.

“You heard the man. Kill him.” He ordered.

Thomas watched as the four men descended out of the shadows, closing in on him. He took a deep breath, scanning across all of them for any noticeable weaknesses among them.

  


He _had_ managed to unpick his handcuff’s after all…

 

 

~

 

 

 


	2. Meeting Miss Knight

 

 

Everyone has their limits.

The right to days when the world seems to be a particularly cruel breed of nasty, and serves to kick you when you’re down and out already. The kind of days when burying yourself in bed, and hibernating til the next day comes, wallowing completely in ones own misery, seems an entirely appropriate way to finish off the awful events that have unfolded. For one Miss Elizabeth Knight, that limit had been pushed _so far_ away by her day, she’d have to use a proverbial telescope to look back and see how far past her god awful limit, that her day had surpassed.

Firstly, Her day started off a little on the crappy side when her alarm didn’t sound, and she ended up being over 40 minutes late for the first day on her brand spanking new job. Her hideously strict dragon lady of a new boss had bollocked her for the better part of half an hour on the importance of being punctual. In front of all her new co-workers. That just led to an onslaught of jokes.

Secondly, when she had bent over earlier to pick something up, her dress ripped, not a demure little accidental snagging kind of rip, like a little gap in the hem. _Oh, no_. It was a seam splitting tear which started just above her ass, and finished halfway down her thigh at the back of her very expensive dress. And what’s worse, everyone in her office had seen it. And by that point, with her mornings bollocking hanging over her head like a vulture, and her new colleagues sniggering behind her back at the fact she was displaying her knickers to the world, did not improve her souring mood. _Not_ surprisingly.

Thirdly, By the time her lunch break swung around, she had a blister on both heels from her agonizing new shoes (of which the annoying blonde gnat who sold them to her, assured her they were ‘killer’ only know did she know that the saleswoman had been _thoroughly_ honest in her sale) and because of her painful feet, she had stumbled, headfirst, into a man bearing 4 scolding hot cupfuls of starbucks coffee, and now, her white, torn, dress was stained, her tummy scalded and she smelt like a walking bag of coffee beans.

Forthly, She had just gone on such a bad blind date, she felt that they should have been reporting the heinous travesty of the event on the news, it _was so beyond_ awful. And what’s worse, she had been talking to Sean for about 3 weeks on a dating website, and he was polite, Mr Darcy-esque etiquetted, full head of hair, nice smiled man. (As if she could already picture the house in the suburbs complete with dog, rowdy twins, and soccer mom car) But then she had arrived at the date in the bar, with her ripped and stained dress, bad mood and all, to find her Mr Darcy, was far more of a Mr Jabba the Hut. For starters the full head of ‘blonde hair’ he boasted off, was nothing more than a greasy balding comb over, and ‘polite, nice smile,’ was in fact, code for, weighs over 200 pounds, asthmatic, no front teeth, never felt the touch of a woman, severe body odour issues, and an extremely disturbing foot fetish. But, she was British, after all. And she was polite. So, she sat and talked to the large balding games designer, up until the point he started moaning and getting a semi from looking at down her heeled feet. She had darted out of the bar so fast, she left flames behind her, the second he started staring at her toes unashamedly, and mumbling about vaseline, and giving her a good ‘rub-down.’ She doesn’t even bother with the lame excuse about needing to ‘feed her cat’ or have an ‘emergency family call’ She just legged it as fast as she could away from the perv, but being so good as to leave a $20 to pay for the tiny mouthful of her mojito she had all but _briefly_ enjoyed.

And the cherry on the shit cake of her day, was that New York City chose today, of all days, to piss it down with storming cold wind and rain, and soak the entire stretch of the Upper West side. She doesn’t even bother getting on the subway, or hailing a cab. What would have been the point? She was wallowing in her misery. So, on she trudged, in her stained expensive white valentino dress, her absolutely crippling nude coloured, red soled, high heels, which had felt sexy when she put them on this morning, but which now, left her feeling like she beheld all the attraction and wiles of a club footed leper. Her coat barely kept her on the dry side, dribbling water down her now soggy back. And she tries her best to shield her hair and makeup from the rain, really she does, with an old copy of the New York Times in her bag, but her once artfully styled straightened long red bob, now, she favoured, looked like a drowned lions mane. And she would doubtless have Alice Cooper styled trickling black eye makeup tracking down her cheeks. What a day to root down in your bag and find that your umbrella refuses to open. She was no umbrella expert, but it doesn’t take a fool to know that it shouldn’t snap when she tried to open it.

And so, soldiering on, she drags her miserably, throbbing with pain, _limping_ , by now she's sure body, all the way away, hobbling home, dreaming of lobbing her shoes in the dumpster, and then fetching herself something hot or strong to drink, and fantasising of a warm dry place to crawl into and quite possibly happily decompose away in. Because if this was how her brand new life, and her swanky new job in New York started now, then she’d quite happily renounce life right there and then on this blustery, dark rainy pavement, as she strolled along West 111th street.

Due to the rain, she can’t be too sure if she is crying or not, but the acute misery in her very cold bones is enough to tell her that _she might_ when she bolts herself inside her apartment, which is still a horrible and entire _eight_ blocks away. So she walks, - _more like staggers, though_ \- swinging her ineffective and crippled umbrella in her hand, and her soggy mushy slab of a newspaper and her rain soaked bag in the other, and on she trudges, dodging drier pedestrians who dodge past her, all with functional umbrellas and good warm coats keeping them dry. And they probably had a nice warm home and loving family to look forward too at the end of such a rainy day. And her? why, she had the ultimate luxury of being a single 31 year old woman, with a flabby ass and thighs that no exercise would rid her off, and she got to go home to a dark, cold barely yet furnished apartment that reeked of new carpets and stale chinese food thanks to the previous owners. She stood at a crossing, waiting to walk, when a passing cab decided to underestimate the full depth of a particularly large puddle, and barrel right through it. Which means her lovely soggy grunge look was helped along further by a nice wall of grimy puddle water washing over her like another wave of misery, reminding her not to get her hopes up in terms of her day improving.

She just stands and watches after the disappearing blurry red lights of the yellow taxi. She doesn’t even waste her energy on glaring or giving him a between the lines salute. What would be the point? She was in far too much of a depressed slump to even think of it. Instead, she just murmurs a _‘thanks mate’_ to herself under her breath, and continues on. Chanting the mantra _‘I hate my life, I hate my life, I hate my life’_ over and over again in her head. An italian looking older guy who bounded past her on the sidewalk, striding along, and whom obviously saw her get hit by the puddle at the hands of an uncaring taxi driver, gave her an ironic not all really empathetic chuckle and a smile from under his umbrella, looking nice and dry to her eyes. She offers him back nothing but a wry look, as she pushed one icky red curl of hair plastered to her forehead. And carries on her dismayed way home.

And that is when she comes across it. (Unbeknownst to her, the place she was about to enter, would drastically alter her life after she stepped foot through it’s doors) It was a bar. A nice looking place, to her mind. A bit hipster, she supposes, and definitely of male design in odes to the dark, almost baron steel grey of it’s build. The front had dark wood and black steel housing large windows which led way to a warm, and dry, looking bar inside. A huge mirrored pine counter along one wall, with shelves dotted all along with enough bottles of booze to sink the titanic. She looks up to see the red neon sign above the door, which read; _O’Grady’s._ She glances again at the interior, she could see men and women, laughing, chatting. Guys at the back playing pool. Looking a lot happier than her. The lighting was soft, and there were candles lit on each table, and the furnished booths. And before her mind could tell her it would be, _one_ , warm _. Two,_ dry, and _three_ , it would have a very good chance of having any sort of booze that would get her drunk quickly. Before she could dissuade herself any further, she reached over, pushed her hand out, shoved the door inwards, and strode through it, away from the sheets of pelting ice cold rain.

Away from the patter of weather outside, the heat is the first thing that hits her. A lovely wave of warm air which licks up her cold calves, and shimmy's along her back like a ribbon of heat. As she stumbled in, she’d have to have been blind, deaf and dumb, not to notice how people gathered around the door gave her the slow once over, pausing their conversations as men and women alike stopped, gushing at her distressed and drowned rat like appearance. Eyeing her over, and glad that _she_ was the one having the bad day, and _not them_. She was right about the warmth of the place, and it smelt reassuringly like hot, warm air, fried food, and a subtle earthy undertone of men’s cologne. The music, as ever, was just some soul or motown soundtrack on loop. She knew enough to recognise B.B. King over the speaker when she heard him, wailing across the place with his guitar.

Elizabeth stood for a moment, letting her soggy sleeves drip excess water onto the doormat, lest she walk it in, slip over and make an even bigger fool out of herself than she had already. It is only then she realises, how _truly_ _dripping wet_ she was. She could feel the water run in rivulets down off her face and her cheeks, and off her hands. And it snakes down her legs too, pooling in her horribly awful shoes. She shook her arms by her side, letting the worst of the water shake off. Before she tried to do her level best, holding her head high, and ploughing past all the nosy people who were gawking at her. She manages to stagger to the almost empty bar, and shrugs off the sopping wet shroud of her coat, letting it flop with a wet ‘ _ssshhhllllloppp’_ sound onto the empty red leather tall bar seat next to her. She didn’t like the fact that she was now showing off her torn, coffee stained dress to the world. But in all honesty, she just needed to get as drunk as one could get on such dire circumstances. Sod the rest of the place if they could, or could not see her knickers as she put her back to the place.

Through her little pessimistic cloak of dejected negativity, something _hot_ pierces her mood then. And it strokes along her like a flame reaching its way across her skin. The kind of burning look a pair of scorching eyes gives you, as they glare into your back from across a crowded room. When she finished hauling her body onto the stool, she flickers her eyes up, dislodging hair from sticking to her face, to see where the source of the claiming heat was coming from, all the way down the other end of the bar, and there, her gaze is drawn, almost like magnets, to a waiting pair of darker than dark blue eyes. The face they are set in, is pale, handsome and _so striking_ that she forgets how to breathe for a lonely second. Taking air deep into her lungs as the severity of the handsome face that is now unreservedly staring her down with _no_ shame. His jaw could have been crafted by some mischievous god who had decided he would be a cruel thing to inflict upon woman kind, and the way his cheekbones sliced his face left her wondering if this man could not sharpen knives on them. His face, was of course, attached to a slender and lovely neck, which tapered down into a lean, and un-ignorably tall body. Usually she was attracted to men of a stockier and more brute muscled build, but he wore lean well. He made it look mouth wateringly _good_. And dammnit all to hell he was managing to pull off _being sexy_ too, dressed in worn and battered blue jeans, an old black Motorhead band tee, and a flannel blue and black checked shirt, and with hair which was as black as spades, and to die for. It was long, hanging just down to the nape of his neck, flopping some strands of inky hair into his eyes in a way that made him look too charming and dangerous. And the lilt in his calming dark blue eyes, and the curve of his smile, told her he knew how irresistible he looked. His eyes giving off an aura of _‘I could fuck you so well, love, and leave you twitching, and I’d be gone long after you woke up, without you even getting my name’_ because, _bloody hell, he looked **good**_ **.** But he looked as slippery as soap. And like soap which she wanted to lather herself all up in. He looked as handsome and alluring as a guy could, as he sauntered his tall way back down to bar to attend to her, a cloth slung over his shoulder, as he hastily dried a wet glass. And when he stops opposite her, leaning one, very long fingered hand, on the bar, she see’s he has several rings on many of his fingers, and the startings of a tribal tattoo ringing about his upper arm where his flannel shirt was rolled up over the muscled things. Where his battered band tee gaped down, she could even see he had more inked across his pecs, swirling down the back of his neck.

Only she would have the piss poor luck to run into such a fallen angel of a gorgeous man such as he when she looked like she had been dragged through a hedge backwards. And dunked in the Hudson a few times for good measure. _Thanks fate_ , she snarls, _thou art a foul mistress…_

“Raining out much?”

He asks, raising a cheeky, perfectly dark and sculpted brow at her. His lips leer into an annoying smile that she wants to smack off his cheeks, and his eyes delight in playing games with her. He had the not so subtle twang of an Irish accent to his tone. And his tone could have _melted butter_ , his voice was so naughtily smooth, deep, throaty and even, that t serves to make her thighs clench a little.

She tilted her head, as she sighs a glower at him. Just what she _did not_ need, was another cocky bastard to contend with. Her mood was not one to be grated against by the likes of a handsome wanker who wanted to play flirty little games.

“I need a _very large_ glass, of something _very strong,_ which will get _me drunk_ _very_ quickly…”

She grumbles, slapping down her purse on the bar top as he watches her with those wise eyes, just drinking all of this woman in. There was a lot to devour about her. And how he wanted to be the one to _devour her._

He smiles wider. His eyes glint with the playful dance which she is _not_ in the mood for.

“As bad as all that? Huh?”

He asks, trying to be interested. His enchanting smile is met with a glare.

“Do I look like I’m baring the end result of a skipping, happy and successful day?”

She asks dryly.

He liked her.

He’d only been talking to her for three seconds. And had only clapped eyes on her for two, but he _really_ did like her. She had fire, and bite, and unlike every other lass who came in here that cooed over him, and flirted their pants off, she didn’t seem to even change a shade when confronted with his charms. No. This lass, was _different_. And it had been a long time since he’d encountered _different_.

He wanted her. Be it under him, on top of him, wrapped around him like a scarf. Cause he could picture it now. Those lovely curvy and slender legs coerced about his neck as he buried his lips into the nirvana that was between her beautiful thighs. His eyes flickered over her lap, where said things made her skirt strain and stretch where she sat. In that moment, he wanted to get her alone, whip that soggy skirt up to her middle, sink into her, and not let her go til she begged him to stop.

He wanted to mark her. To make her his, to make her feel so good, wanton, and alive, that no other man would ever be enough to satisfy her.

He wanted to own her, to hold the privilege to purr dirty things into her ear. whisper hot breath down her supple neck. To make her _his._ His pride. His joy. His woman. _His_ little _pet._

He raps three fingers down on the polished dark pine wood of the bar. Each one of his rings clacking as he does. Smile wide and limitlessly cunning.

“I s’pose not, _pet_.” He offers.

“What drink’ll ya have?” He asks again.

“A strong one. The kind they use to sedate grown rhinos with.”

She growls. He chuckles at that.

“Whiskey? Vodka? Bourbon? Gin? What’s your poison, pet?”

He smirks. Trying to coax more out of her.

He watches as she unzips her purse, looks inside, and he watches her count, mumbling silently to herself as she does.

“Depends. What’s the most potent can I get, for…. _five_ dollars?”

She asks. Her icy blue eyes meeting his.

“A small bourbon…” He answers

“Great.” She sighs.

“….Is £5.50…” He continues with a melting grin.

Her spine slumps down in her seat. She leafs out her five one dollar bills, and slaps down a fifty cent coin atop the nestle of green, seeing that made him swagger away and swipe a bottle from the high shelf, that he had no problem reaching, twiddling a glass in his long slim fingers and pouring a great glug of dark bourbon into it. Despondently, she reaches for her bag and snaps open a compact, wincing when she saw her reflection glare back at her. She, indeed, did look like she was a groupie for one of Alice Cooper’s shows, with gothic black tears staining her under eyes. Which she quickly wipes away with a sweep of her finger before tall, dark, handsome and cocky made his way back on over.

When she hears a glass thud down in front of her, she jumps lightly when she looks up and finds him there in front of her again. Standing way too close to suggest he had any respect for personal boundary, and leering a stupidly nice grin that left her uneased. Plus he smelled _great_ too, he had on one of those afterhshaves that lingered in the air, and in the space his body left when he moved away. It was _damned_ tantalising, _that._ It was all male musk, and hot skin. Spice and all things nice.

“To your very good health…”

He toasts to her, as he slides the glass her way, even closer to her reach.

He watches as she doesn’t even hesitate in chucking the whole thing back in one go. When she slams the glass down again, she winces, letting the alcohol burn down her throat. Making her shudder. But, her belly felt warm for the first time in an hour, and she knew it would help her along to sleep tonight. He watches her, impressed, raising one brow. Clearly, she had endured a rough day after all.

“So, what about today is driving you to the bottle. It can’t just be cause you got caught out In a spot of rain, can it?”

He asks, crossing his arms and standing opposite her, still grinning. Which left her still wanting to smack it off his lips.

“Do you take this much interest in all your customers? Cause if you do, then I think those people in the corner need some friendly chatter…”

She bit out. Swallowing as she glared at him for one second, before twiddling the rim of the glass with her finger.

“TV’s broken. I’m starved for entertainment, right now.” He beamed.

“Glad I could be of use to someone..” She sighs angrily to herself under her breath.

“So you should. You’re providing me with the most _sassy_ and _bitchy_ amusement I’ve had all evening.” He offers up.

She raised an auburn brow at him them.

“Seriously?”

She scoffs, before she caught a glimpse off the gaggle of women in the mirror behind her, who were unapologetically eye fucking the likes of him from all away across the pub.

She leaned closer, so as not to betray their confidence as she spoke in soft anger to the cocky barman who was getting under her skin with each passing second.

“.. Because there is a table of absolutely _ravenous_ women just over my left shoulder. The two blondes, the brunette, and one redhead, all of whom, judging by the way they look like they, _all four_ , want to take an arm or a leg each, of you, and have a good long sleepless shag-fest of a one night stand. Brings me to the conclusion _that I am not_ the _only_ being of enjoyment here, _but,_ I am the only person here who Is offering ah…”

She paused then and looked down at her soggy state and chuckled, before meeting his eyes again.

“…the most interesting diversion from your _otherwise boring_ night…” She spoke seriously.

His arms were still crossed over his chest, but his eyes grew bright and hot. And his smile increased tenfold, so much so, he bore her a grin that showed off a row of perfectly straight white teeth. It was a wolfs grin, and _no_ less.

“They’ve, each of them, been flirting with you round the clock is my guess?”

She offered, looking a little amused as she caught his eyes again. Her smile slight and cheeky. It made him want to leave a stinging red slap to her glorious ass for such cheekiness.

“You’re not wrong there.” He leers.

“The blondes keep giving me the keen eye, between them And the brunette is trying to be sneaky about it, but since she sat down, she has undone _three_ more buttons on her top, than when she first came in here…and the red, well. She's ordered each round of drinks and practically reclines towards me on the bar to try her hand at flirting...” He admitted.

Elizabeth raised one wry brow, still smiling slightly.

“Women.” She scoffed in dark irony. Rolling her eyes.

“You know, plus there's the _other_ thing about you..” He shrugs.

She doesn’t know why she sat stock still, nor froze awaiting his next words, but she did. She was curious about what this man thought of her. And she didn’t even know why. Well. She did know why, but she’d never admit it. Her blood turned hot and gonging past her eardrums loudly as she sat and waited in near agony, for what he had to say to her.

“ _Me_?” She croaks, in surprise.

He leans on the bar then, too close for comfort for her liking, and his eyes looked far too dangerous to be true. Or good. His fingers twined together as he swung himself closer, to talk in a more husky, and hushed tone. His voice so deep, he’d have to be careful he didn’t strike oil.

“Why should I waste my valuable time chasing after a wanton blonde or a, rather _slutty_ , brunette. Where here, sat before me, is a fiery unattainable redhead, serving herself up to me on a platter and whose unaware I can see _right through_ her sopping wet white dress…” He rasps with a sinning smile

Her eyes instantly bolt to her front, to see that, indeed, her bright blue push up bra, undetectable under the sleeveless dress usually, now sprung out like a beacon, open across to his lecherous eyes.

“You flatter yourself to think I sat over here in order to be closer to the likes of a _wanker_ such as you…” She snarls.

“… And she has a bite as worse as her bark too..” He winks.

“Shut up.” She winces.

He smiles wider.

“I like a good sparring match now and then. Keeps me fit, you know, pet.”

He smiles. Turning ¾ away from her to place his dish drying rag down.

“Go dry some glasses and leave me alone, barkeep.” She snaps.

“No glasses to dry, right now, _pet_ , I’m without use.”

“Use _less_ , more like.” She parries back.

“ _Ohh_. Are you this charming to everyone you meet, _pet_? Or am I just particularly lucky this evening?” He asks.

“No, I usually reserve such burning hatred, only for, foul barmen who eye up my tits like I’m a page three girl.”

“I count myself lucky to make the category then.”

Again came his irritating smirk that she was starting _to really_ hate. And _love_ , at the same time.

“And I cannot help that your tits are nice to look at, matter of fact, _pet_ , that entirely your fault.” He smiled.

“I’ll pay you to leave me alone…” She shut her eyes, wishing him away from her.

“You can’t. You don’t have any cash, and I don’t take card, or cheque in bribe payment.” He sprung back to her.

“I’ll leave then…” She retorted, wondering why her feet wouldn’t move when she wanted them too.

His eyes met hers.

“Go ahead. I’m not going to throw my body across the doors to prevent you from leaving. I don’t need your company that badly, pet. I’ll just console your leaving by taking up those four women on their offer..” He winks.

She doesn’t know why that thought of him, with them, makes her seething mad and jealous, but it _does._

She swallows in defeat, and, annoyingly he chuckles. Calling her out on her bluff.

“You see now. You were lying. _You do_ want to stay here and be with me.” He charmed.

“…Only because the alternative means going out and getting wet again.” She pointed out.

“Don’t be like that. You do look good _wet_.” He flirts.

“Am I supposed to be sweet-talked by all your flirting?” She asks, one auburn brow raised.

He eyes her up and down where she sat. She was full and thick in the arse and thigh area, make no mistake, and her bust wasn’t too bad either. She was _delicious_ to his eyes. _Especially i_ n that see through dress.

“Yeah. If you like..” He spoke.

“Well. You should know it’s making me _revolted_ by you, rather than wanting to hop into bed with you.” She offered.

“Good, loud, bed breaking, angry, biting, scratching, hate sex can be a good cure for that..” He winked in a promise.

And how _that does_ that make her thighs and her sex clench. The man was _walking sex,_ and she cannot deny, right now, her hormones were going crazy for more of him, like a fearl tug of lust in her gut, for him. She would most like to shut him up right now by slapping him across his cocky face. Because if that led to animalistic carnal sex with him, rough and dirty doing it up against some wall, well, then _so be it_. She _wouldn’t_ fight it. She wanted to tangle her body up in him, on the closest bed, and have a long night of sweaty, hot and carnal rough and tumble, to wake up aching, and sated, tumbled in some flimsy bedsheets, with the dried sensations of his kisses and his touch littered all over her body. Like clothing.

“So can a well deserved homicide.” She pointed out sweetly.

“Not quite the same happy finish..” He mumbled slowly.

“But it would make me _feel a hell_ of a lot better.” She bites.

“So would the sex.”

He pointed out, rasping his words, leaning close to her to whisper hotly, his breath furnacing her cheeks as he leant over the bar. The way he purred ‘sex’ made her wet, and then some. She’d never known arousal like it.

“I’m really glad I walked in here this evening…” She said sarrcily.

“ _Oh_ , I know I am, _Pet._ ” He purred.

She ground her teeth, hating that nickname.

“Do you have anything better to do than irk me?” She asks.

“Not right at this moment…”

He spoke after a moment of thinking about it, teasing her.

“Then, for your sake before I hurt you, _please_ find something _to do_.” She growls

“See how the lady is so concerned for my safety..” He coos, watching as she rolls her eyes.

“I’m enjoying annoying you. You’re _great fun, pet_.”

“Stop calling me that, I’m _not your pet_..” She seethes.

“You’d look lovely in a collar.” He adds.

“Seriously. Piss off and annoy someone else.”

“I can’t. _Pet_.”

“Why not?” She asks, her voice a roar.

“I’m irresistibly _drawn_ to you..” He purrs smoothly. “You got a little fight in you, I like that.” He growls.

“Love at first sight was it? When I look like drowned rat? Or some sort of damsel in distress?” She asks.

“A _soggy_ damsel nonetheless.” He interjected.

“Oh, go flirt with those blondes..” She snaps, coming to a stand and pulling her wet shroud of a coat with her. Standing down from the bar, and snatching her purse back into her hands.

“ _Oh_ , and she leaves _so soon._.” He drawls.

She smiled, and it was a sexy as hell, sinfully beautiful red smile she had on her, she stepped ever closer and practically purred her next words to him through a killer smile and very sexy blue eyes. It made him want to snatch her over that bar, and haul her into his arms to fuck her like there was no tomorrow.

“Yes. Because If I have to stay here for one more second, talking to you. Then I’m afraid I’ll end up in prison for your murder. But trust me when I say it wouldn’t be considered much of a horrible sort of crime to rid the world of an arrogant, pervy, self _absorbed prick_ , like you.”

She smiled, her face then dropped back to her mask of poison, before she pulled on her soggy sleeves and turned away.

He smirked after her, _widely._ Watching her ass sway away. His eyes lit up when he saw the back of her dress was torn open, showing him a glimpse of her cheeky lacy black underwear.

“You didn’t even get my name…” He called after her.

“I won’t be needing it.” She promised.

“I didn’t get yours either…” He added.

“Good.” She snapped.

“Goodbye, pet. Or should I say, Goodbye, Elizabeth Knight. Lady of my dreams.”

She turned at that, and glowered across at him from the door, seeing he had a small square rectangle of paper that was her business card, tangled in between his long, silver ring clad fingers as he held it up cockily for her to see.

She growled, loud, and annoyed, at that.

“Name’s Tom.” He smiled.

She scoffed, turning away.

“Come see me again.” He demanded to the back of her soggy red head.

“Bye, _prick._.” She called as she came to the door, striding away into the rain.

“Later, _Pet_.” He smirked.

 

 

 

~

 

 

 

 

 


	3. New Boss on the Block

 

 

It was spring in New York. The kind of spring that reminded Elizabeth instantly of the song ‘You make me feel so young’ by Frank Sinatra, because spring had certainly sprung. The trees down her street blossomed with white flowers and big fat buds of fresh green leaves, making her smile when she stepped foot out of her door to catch a cab to work. And even her cabbie was smiling, that said it all, Spring in New York could cause smiles in even the most morose of places, it seems. And so she smiled all the way to work.

Not much had changed to her in the past few years. She had pretty much gone with the flow and got on with her life. She even had managed to snag herself a boyfriend. Zachary Maitland. He worked for Nomura Holdings up in wall street. He was a smart man, and not too shabby to look at if she said so herself. He had green eyes to die for, waves of blonde hair that she loved, and a toothy white smile that made her weak. They had been dating for just under a year, and had thought about moving in together, but with him all the way up in wall street in his million dollar pad, it was never convenient to talk about her leaving her cosy little place on 105th street. Not to mention she kept changing the subject every time he asked. She didn’t want to confront it. Because moving in with him, meant change. And at present, she liked her life, just fine, as it was.

When she got to work, she slid out of the cab, and sauntered her way up to the large glass dominated front that was the Art Alliance Inc Gallery on 108th Street, she could see her coworkers going positively bezerk within. All stark black dressed uniformed staff gaggled about the desk, and the way She could see them gabbling and chatting spiritedly to one another, there was either some juicy piece of gossip doing the circulation rounds, or, more likely, there was a great hubub of who would be replacing their late boss, Mrs Dagoon. ( _Mrs Dragon_ , more like, as she was nicknamed, an evil harpy of a demon boss who had retired to spend more time supposedly cheating on her rich horrible husband, with arty silver fox haired Italian men) Elizabeth pushed open the large glass door, seeing her closest colleagues, Cassie and Sam lean over the desk, to share their excitable squawking with Laura, the nice friendly receptionist. Cassie was a pale skinned, black haired and green eyed dream. Where she was certainly ruthless in business, She could tend to be a little on the daft side, but Elizabeth didn’t mind that. Whereas her other co-worker, Sam was the opposite, she was as sharp as a tack. And with lush curly brown hair, big doe brown eyes, and always unblemished caramel coloured bronzed skin, and a figure that everyone admired, she was the hard hit of the office. Men, women, small children and the elderly alike adored her. Laura the receptionist was relatively new here, but she was always efficient, punctual, and as she had pretty wavy blonde hair, and sweet blue eyes, she made the perfect face for the Reception job.

Elizabeth clacked her way over to the desk, seeing as all of them gathered about and squealed like a pack of hyena’s. Her auburn brows raised about three inches up her hairline, and she prayed there were no early morning customers about to hear the noises that shrieked from the three of them. She blinked a couple of times, the noises and pitch hurting her ears. She came to stand her work satchel down on the dip in the desk, near them all, today she wore a pair of wide flared black trousers, with another pair of expensive toe crushing black shoes, and a neck gaping black velvet jacket that made the stark red of her hair stand out as the carefully achieved straightened bob that had taken almost an hour to defrizz and tame into respectability this morning. Art Alliance Inc’s uniform was black, for it’s employees, and everyone followed this rule most of the time.

“Ok, spill.”

She huffed to her friends, rolling her aching shoulder back in the socket, as her work bag had been too heavy to be true. She had a heavy case load of a potential new buyers portfolio in her bag. She was the deputy chief art administrator, and international art buyer here, after all. Unfortunately, that came with a buggering load of paperwork.

Cassie bit her lip, looking across to her friend with a wide grin.

“The _Dragon’s_ been publicly slayed in the press…”

She beamed. No one had liked their old boss. Even on a good day, she had been a foul woman to work for.

Elizabeth frowned.

“I thought she took a time out for a few weeks?” Elizabeth asked.

Sam laughed, loud, and unapologetic, snorting through her nose.

“Oh, _she won’t_ be on peaceful temporary leave now.” She offered.

Libby’s mouth hung open.

“How so?”

Cassie let the glossy mag that she had clutched to her chest, fall down so as Elizabeth could see the full picture which was scrawled across the front cover. And it was their old boss, scrambling out of a hotel room, half undressed, with a mature Italian gentleman, all under the huge headline, _‘ART BOSS CAUGHT CHEATING BY HUSBAND, RUMOURS OF DIVORCE!’_ and as Elizabeth flicked to the page where all the juicy details layed, she saw that indeed, their old boss would _not_ be on temporary leave after all. It was clear as day, that as her husband would rob her of everything she held dear in divorce court, for cheating, that she’d doubtless return to being the chief Art buyer, and Administrator. The gallery would have to ship in new blood.

“Has she even bothered to think about finding a replacement?” Elizabeth asked to her friends. She did love her job, poisonous boss aside, she’d hate to have to search for another.

“Apparently, order from top brass, says that her agency sent another guy to replace her..”

“A man in a predominantly female workplace?” Elizabeth asked with a wry brow raised. “That’s wise.” She drawled sarrcily.

“It seems so..” Sam added.

“Do we know anything about our ‘new guy’?” Elizabeth asked.

“All we know so far, is that his name is Mr Max Payne, and he should be here this morning to introduce himself to his ‘new team’…”

Laura added helpfully, reading from the computer screen in front of her. Obviously this mysterious new boss had the decency to send an email to inform his ‘new team’ of when they should be polished and poised, ready for his arrival.

“I bet you all ten bucks he is some, fresh off the high climbing corporate male dominated ladder, in some _barely_ even art related industry, who doesn’t know a Monet from a Millais.” Elizabeth growled with a low smile.

Sam smiled, as did Cassie.

“His resume said he spent a year in Paris as assistant to curator of the Louvre.” Laura interjected.

“That means he spent a year fetching caffé, and croissants for the curator of the louvré…” Sam grinned, and Cassie nudged her in the ribs.

“He could be hot…” Cassie leered wickedly.

“Or he could behold all the visual attraction as an _Orc_ from Lord of the Rings..” Elizabeth offered up.

“I’m hoping for a more Aragorn look.” Cassie grinned like the Cheshire cat.

“Don’t get your hopes up Cass, he could be a foul boss, just like the dragon before him…”

Elizabeth warned, picking up her bag, needing a cup of tea to let some caffeine penetrate her system before Cassie spun off on her neglomanic tendencies. She began to clack her way over to her office as she spoke. Lifting her bag and swaying away to get that heavenly sounding cup of tea, and usually when she spoke such a level headed warning such as that to Cassie, the woman would usually have a gleaming retort to spring bag. But as it was, she was silent. That was _odd_. But then, as the crossed the wide art space, she heard the definitive and tell tale clank of the glass door being shoved open, and someone’s elegantly posh sounding shoes clacked through it.

Elizabeth turned her head to see a somewhat tall, and very muscular, stocky man, in a seamlessly cut grey suit, power through the door and make his confident way over to where they all stood, even through she was stood off to the side, his eyes, his haunting green eyes, stared her right down as if he were aroused, and she was naked, even growing a touch too hot and dominant for her liking. That look of his as this man dissected her, sent unpleasable shivers to wrack and send horrible bursts of nervousness through her. He wasn’t unpleasant looking, that’s what made it a little worse, if he had been uglier, or a little less arrogant and assured himself, then maybe she wouldn’t find it so unsettling. But as it was, he had excellently styled blonde hair, and a jawline that most women would howl in wanting for. He was clean shaven, nicely pressed and he smelt like an overpowering men’s cologne counter, like he had bathed in the stuff and as he crossed to them all he just finished sliding a huge slab of a grey slate smart phone back into his pocket, the cradle of it resting there making his trousers strain over his crotch in a way that was designed to instantly catch female attention. His smile was wide and proud, and he had somewhat nice lips, and as he smiled, coming closer to the desk, and stopping, skimming a huge muscular hand down his silk red tie. Surveying over the reception and the four women like he owned them all.

Which he did. Because this, was the famous Mr Max Payne. As intimidating as he was rich, and both he had in abundance.

Once he had finished, he raked his eyes over Elizabeth again, from head to toe. This time. And he _very much_ liked what he saw. She was ripe too. Full figured and glorious to his eye. And he liked to believe that her formal work wear only enhanced her elegant, so very striking and seductive beauty. Because she was, a _total knockout._

“Morning Ladies..”

He purred in a soft American accent that none of them could quite place.

Cassie managed to let her smile drop wide, and Sam smiled nicely at him. As did Laura. They were all positively moon eyed at him. Elizabeth was not quite as easily felled. She was not impressed by the fancy suit or the million dollar smile. Her heart was contented with far simpler things.

“I take it you guys are my new team. Well. I look forwards to working under all of you. You fine women doubtlessly know the place better than I do, so I shall be in your expert hands for the first weeks til I find my feet.”

He smiled, simpering, making verbal love to them all.

 _This could border on sexual harassment, and all in the first two minutes of the job._ Elizabeth thought, rolling her eyes. _God, what a smooth charmer._ She found him lecherous and revolting right away, She turned against his loathsome character the second he started to visually eye-fuck her the second he saw her _._ Lord knows It would take more than a man gifted with a glorious smile, with a rolex, and a power kink and a suit that cost more than her apartment, to make her melt.

No. Her taste ran more towards, stunningly tall, dark haired, blue eyed, Irish barmen. She thought idly with a sigh. Before filing that thought away.

“Now, which one of you lovely ladies is, Elizabeth Knight?”

He asked, looking longingly at Cassie, who twiddled with her hair. Libby cocked her head, frowning. Cassie had a boyfriend, Paul, and was madly in love with him, why was she so gushing and all bambi dewy eyed over this, frankly, this wall street reject wanker?

She never thought she’d disdain her name quite so much, hearing it pass through one man’s lips. But she could always be proven wrong.

“That would be _me_ , Mr Payne…”

She spoke from standing off to the side. A slight bite to her voice. Letting him know she wouldn’t roll on her belly for him like some submissive lassie dog. He was growing to be a massive _payne_ in her ass.

His eyes lingered on her ass and the front of her thighs for a long second, before his eyes made contact with her own and he gave her a tilt of his wavy blonde head, and a a growing wide smile that didn’t even begin to have such a potent effect on her, whatsoever.

“I received glowingly excellent recommendations on you from your previous boss, Miss Knight…”

He awarded her, leaning against the desk and eye-fucking her chest now. At his words she was a tad taken aback, Mrs Dragon had hounded her _night and day_ , over her so called _‘pathetic attempts at trying to do her job’,_ in such a way that Libby had the most happy and pleasant dreams about the woman being run over by cabs on broadway. Or she would fantasize, when Dragon was on her ass, screeching a lecture to her over her shoulder about what little information she knew about art, she would envision grabbing the nearest blunt object, and beating her to death with it, all for want of a little bit of silence.

“She recommended, _me?_ ” Elizabeth asked.

“Indeed she did. You sound surprised by that, Miss Knight..”

He drawled. His voice a rasping and flirty purr.

“She wasn’t the kind of charitable boss to lend out praise _often_..”

Elizabeth explained. _If ever_ , she added silently.

“ _Oh,_ I think you’ll find me a far more _amiable_ boss. I reward my colleagues hard work, _very well._ ”

He promised in a filthy leer, she could not help but see through the double meaning of that statement.

“So much so, that I am making you Chief Deputy Art Buyer and Administrator.. Effective immediately. You will have your own office, next to mine, and a pay rise, and not to mention you will collaborate very closely with me on the top gallery buying's.” He smiled.

She didn’t like the hint of danger, mingled with keen lust, which she found simmering away in his eyes. It made her wary. And her hair prickled up on the back of her neck.

She swallowed.

“That’s…. Very _generous_. Thankyou, very much. Mr Payne.” She spoke slowly, her tone flat, and nondescript.

He grinned. Stepping forwards and clasping her hand tight, shaking it. Squeezing her closer than should have been appropriate, by reeling her arm closer.

“Please, _sweet thing_ , I’m an informal boss, please do feel free to call me Max.” He winked.

Bile rose in her throat at that. She wasn’t so sure there was all that much innocent intent behind their ‘close collaboration’ nor the sudden relocation of her office suddenly now being _right next_ to his, she was sure his intentions were somewhat far more ignoble. She couldn't help but be aware of the suspicion and fear that now lined her gut. She didn’t like the cold blooded feeling he gave her. It felt like she was being circled by a shark. She thankfully let her hand slide from him as he, _mercifully_ , moved away.

“Would someone mind so terribly showing me the way to the main office? Don’t want to get myself lost on the first day…”

He winked to Cassie, who eagerly gabbled a _yes_ , and demurely wiggled away, sashaying her bottom – _on purpose in manner of a silly dressage horse_ – and flouncing off to show him. The elegant stride of their new, unsettling, boss in tow. Cutting his masculine swathe through the gallery space after her.

Before she could slide away to her office, Sam gripped Elizabeth by her elbow.

“ _Oh, my sweet_ hell. Is there a law that makes sleeping with the boss illegal?” She asked

“Because I tell you now, I would tap that like a new beer keg.” She grinned, her eyes flirty and her smile impish.

Elizabeth frowned. _What had come over them so suddenly?_ They were acting no worse than sorority girls swooning over the handsome frat boys they _so_ liked.

“Yeah. He and you could be thrown in prison for breeching workplace conduct.”

“I don’t know why you’re so snippy. He was eye-fucking you like he could already imagine you naked…” Sam added. “It was nearly indecent the way he looked at you, Miss Knight.” She purred.

“Well. Mr Max Payne can keep on dreaming. Because my naked body, is something he will never see.” She offered sternly as she walked away.

Unbeknownst to her, as she sauntered away from the reception desk, and came across the wide open space of the art gallery, which opened out onto the offices, which looked down from huge glass windowed balcony, this meant that everyone in the offices could see the reception below. And Max Payne’s eyes keenly followed the curvy redhead before she slid out of sight.

He grinned, widely.

 _Oh, yes_. He thinks. _She was the one he was after, alright…_


	4. Pet's and Prick's

 

 

 

Glad for the reprieve to get away from her new, lecherous boss, when three o’clock rolls around, Elizabeth gladly scatters away from the gallery as fast as her feet would take her.

Spiriting her quickly away from her new boss, before he could catch her and coerce her into staying late and talking about her transition into her new position. She had hot footed it out of there, and caught a cab straight to her favourite spot to unwind after work. A little Irish pub slash bar called _O’Grady’s_ on West 111 th street. Run by her sort of enemy slash friend, Tom. She loved seeing him after a long day at work for a good insult sparring match, and let’s not mention he made a heavenly cup of earl grey and lemon tea just the way she liked it. Or whatever else she may have fancied if she needed something a little stronger. She even went in for breakfast sometimes. Even if, secretly. Under all his prick-ish ways of insulting her at every turn, his smile seemed to make her day, just that _little bit_ brighter. And good lord, he was just _, so nice_ , to look at and talk too. (when he wasn’t a sarcastic or grumpy bastard)

She hopped out of her cab, and sprinted quickly across the road, coming to bound up and over the pavement, seeing that the afternoon sun just started to blaze it’s ochre way across the tall tips of the skyscrapers in the distance. She liked how the sun spread its feeling fingers through the great bursts of green leaves on the trees. Caressing the tarmac ahead of her on the sidewalk, and making her hair spin into flame as the light tangled into it.

Well, that was what Tom thought _anyway_. As he watched the unfairly beautiful bright red streak of his friends hair catch the sun mangificently like a silky curtain of flowing red flame as she leapt across the pavement’s, and slid easily through the door, giving him her most pretty smile. Which he beamed at. She pushed the door shut behind her, and he smiled wider, seeing she was dressed in her always sexy formal work wear. And today’s black jacket and nearly low cut jacket, teemed with limitlessly sexy black with red soled heels was no exception to her rule. She shimmyed her ass over to the bar in front of him, and hauled her bag up onto he barstool next to her, hopping onto the worn red leather seat.

He grinned as he saw her come in, and she saw that he was dressed as scruffy, but just on the right side of being dishevelled and bohemian chic _sexy_ to her eyes. (as per usual) On his freakisly long cricket legs, and stretched across his strong thighs, he wore a pair of darker than dark black jeans. With only one t shirt on today, and it was a dark burgundy wine colour, not tucked in, but it gaped down low to his sternum, showing off his pale calvicle, and the sleeves were rolled up high, so she could see his scrawled ink black celtic tattoo’s on his arms, and the one which she knew was patterned on his chest. Just peeking through the gap of the shirt. And as always, it just wouldn’t be Tom, if his hair was no arranged in a handsome tousled inky mess, still long and unruly, pushed back from his face, but with two curls of it hanging down like he had been drawn by walt disney as a dashingly dark prince. And he still had his staple celtic knotted four rings on each of his lanky pale fingers. She watched as he smiled, just finishing snapping the bottletop off a beer, and sliding it to a man down the bar from her.

“Earl grey tea, big mug, with lemon, and hello.” She smiled as she adjusted to get comfy.

“Such a conventional greeting coming from you, Pet…”

He smirks. Turning his back to her to make sure he brewed her tea the way she liked it. As he turns, her eyes shamefully swing low to check out his five star fine ass at the back of his jeans, seeing he had his dirty dish drying rag bulging out of his back jean’s pocket.

“Oh, now, Prick. You know I love tea more than any human..” She beams.

He shook his head, still facing away from her. Grinning as he saw her eyes had just slid down to check out his ass, there was a huge mirror in front of him after all, behind the bar. He chuckled. As his head moved, Elizabeth found she became magnetized by the way the light in the place bounced off the stark obsidian black of his hair.

“More than me? Pet?” He teased.

“ _Definitely_ more than you.”

She offered dryly. _Completely lying through her teeth, of course._

“You say that all you like, there’s no other barman in all of manhattan that can brew you a cup of tea like I can…” He drawled, Turning back round with a steaming mug of tea, and handing it to her, before sliding it close after he slung a wedge of lemon into it. And watched as she smiled.

“On that, I will agree with you.” She beamed prettily.

“I think hell just froze over…” He remarked coyly. Raising one dark brow.

“Come on, we agree on some things..” She pointed out.

He levelled her a look that thoroughly contradicted that.

“We agree that we hate each other’s guts…” He smiled nicely.

“Our music taste is remarkably, somewhat a little similar…” She added, as if he hadn’t even spoken.

“And that’s about as far as it goes…”

He finished, wiping down the bar about her. She was so good as to cradle her tea in her hands as he did. When he was done, he barked a ‘down’ so she could return it to the pine bartop once more.

“Come on. There must be some things about me which you can stand…” She offered.

Tom looked at her then. Of course there were things about her he could stand. He lost count of the number of times he wanted to haul her over that bar, on one late evening, and kiss and kiss, and kiss her, caressing her body in his hands, until she begged him to fuck her, because he would in a heartbeat. He would have her up against whatever wall or flat surface was closest. She was _intoxicating, his pet._ She was such an overpowering female to be around. When they were in a crowded room, wherever they may have been, his eyes went straight to her. He ached for her, and he had for three long years. But she was a blue blooded woman, who could probably have her pick of the cream of the crop of rich new york bachelors, she wouldn’t even look twice at considering a near penniless Irish bartender like him. Nonetheless, sometimes when they both had a few, on late nights at the bar, they’d end up flirting like mad. And he couldn’t put aside that she had the best smile he’d ever seen, or that she always smelled so damned inviting, and not just her perfume. Her pheremones called to him like a siren, and he could name so many things he was starving to do to her body if he should ever be so lucky as to get her into his bed. He ached for her. He adored her smile, he worshipped her fine ass, and he was mad about her charmingly sexy laugh. But, for her sake, he had to suffer in silence. Women like her, should not fall, for men, or a man, like him. he didn’t want to drag her into his messy life. Because she would undoubtedly get hurt. And he could never let that happen to her.

“Some things come to mind..” He hinted.

“Like what?” She grinned sipping her tea.

“Why are we having this conversation again?” He asked.

“Because, we’ve been friends/slash enemies for nearly three years now. You know, we’ve been to motorhead concerts, shared drunken new years kisses, I see you every day. I want to see if I have made any impact on your life. Like, for instance, If I’m the kind of friend who, If I get run over by a cab, on the way to work tomorrow, your reaction will be ‘ _meh. I’ll send some flowers for the funeral.’_ Or, will it be more of a ‘ _I will polebare your coffin, and weep for months at the loss of you’_ …” She asked, in only a very what he reffered to as an, ‘Elizabeth’ kind of way.

It made him chuckle.

“I’m not big on weeping. What kind of flowers would your family appreciate?” He asked cruelly. Grinning like the wicked prick he was.

She made her best peturbed face at him. And that was when he caught it, an aroma. A scent that emanated off her, and it was so strong, he wondered why he didn’t detect it the moment she wandered in here. It was cologne. A overpowering strong male scent. It sent his senses into overdrive, sensing another man’s fragrance on her. What’s worse is that it was familiar _to him_ , aswell.

He knew exactly who wore that sticky, and awful brand of afterhshave. And it made his blood run cold to smell it on her.

“Ok, snuffly Jo. What ware you doing? This is a little bit weird now..” She frowned, leaning back and waving him off.

“Have you been near a, _Man,_ today?” He asked her, leaning closer, sniffing by her shoulders, and into her hair.

“Just say ‘big fat chance of you ever getting laid ever again Elizabeth’ would you? It’s far kinder..” She joked, waving the weirdo away with her hand. Putting to the back of her head that her and Zach hadn’t been intimate in nearly three month’s now, and the proximity of her handsome male friend, sniffing near her neck made her a little bit weak.

“ _Christ_ , you reek of his cologne…”

He muttered lowly. Possessiveness firing through his blood for her. And the thought of her never getting laid again made him mad, too.

“I shook hands with my new male boss today. Could _that_ be it?”

She asked bemused, bringing her palm to her own hand, and sensing nothing but her rose nd geranium hand cream which she had put on earlier. She was somewhat interested by the way the man had a nose like a well trained bloodhound. Mind, her boss did have cologne that made your eyes water, so it wasn’t all unplausable for her to reek of it. He had pulled her close to him, after all. When he shook her hand.

“New boss?” He asks, raising a brow. This was turning out to be very bad. _Very bad,_ indeed.

“Yeah. Smarmy bastard. Half the girls at the gallery are in love with him already. He’s only been in the office for _two minutes_ , and already they were all ready to throw down and mother his young. But, I don’t know, he…”

She paused, trying to find her words.

Her veins prickled with ice.

“….I _don’t know_ why, he pushes my buttons, my gut tells me theres something, _not all_ right with him. He’s. well. For starters he was not subtle in checking me out when he swaggered in. And in a way that suggested he would like me to spend a lot more personal collaborative time with him in a strictly unprofessional manner. And, he just set my radar up, bottom line, Is that I just _don’t_ trust him.. he seems _too dark_ …” She offered.

“Trust that gut instinct. It’s more right than you know..”

He warned. His eyes were stiff and angered. If she was talking about who _he thought_ she was talking about, then there was a very good reason for his defensiveness over her. This man didn’t sound like a safe one, to his ears.

“I got out of there so fast tonight, I bet he’s already reconsidering my promotion...I’m beginning to wonder if he didn’t just offer it to me based purely on looks alone. Ugh. I hate that thought…” She offered dryly.

“He promoted you?” Tom asked. “That’s great news, pet.”

“You know how much I hate that name.” She growled.

He grinned, wider.

“I love how you hate it.”

He purred sexily. His voice dipping to that dark sexy register that she couldn’t resist the sound of.

“I _hate you_ , too.” She fought back.

He puckered a kiss and a flirty wink across to the bar to her as he dried a glass.

“So, does my lovely pet make more dosh now she’s moving up the corporate ladder?” He asked.

“A whopping extra $2000 a year. Before Taxes.” She smiled meekly.

“Well, that’s not to be sniffed at. And you could spend it all on your handsome bartending friend.” He winked. Attempting to coax her.

“It is all going straight towards helping pay my rent.” She grinned nicely.

“Besides, with you looking the way you do, and the fact you make a kick ass magherita, you must make more than that in tips in one night here alone..” She pointed out.

He grinned. Tilting his head in that ‘Tom’ way to contradict her.

“I _really don’t_..” He promised her

“How many times have you had hen party’s, gay or otherwise in here, just to have a good gawp at you, O’Grady?” She asked.

He looked remarkably pleased with himself.

“All business is good business…” He winked in a promise.

“If I may ask…” He continued, stretching up to place a trio of glasses back on a high shelf _to her_ , but a low shelf _to his_ towering height.

“What did you mean by, _looking the way I do?_ ”

He asked naughtily, bracing his hands wide, she heard his rings clack onto the bartop. His smile was perfection seduction, if he could manage tempt her. but then again, she didn’t really need much tempting…

“Oh, you know… all of….that…” She waved her hand gesturing to all of him. To which he raised an amused brow.

“If I knew, I wouldn’t have to ask, now would I?..” He purred.

She smiled.

“Your ego needs _no_ further flattery, _Prick_.” She bit out.

“I _dare_ you to give it a go, _Pet_.” He snapped back.

She was silent for a second as she smiled.

“You don’t have an ego like that from living a monk like existance. Plus with that face, and that tight ass, and that slow melting grin thing you do, it’s bound to leave any woman felled. Plus theres that dangerous vibe you give off. Covered in tattoos, rings, no piercings, I can see, and If I can’t I _don’t want to know_ about them or where may or may not be lurking. But the dark inky hair brings out those sizzling blue eyes, and your ridiculously charming smile. And you can pull off the _‘I woke up with it like this’_ hairstyle. Which women find irresistably charming. Also Prick, those strong muscles and thighs you wield, hidden behind this bar as often you are, give that _‘Honey, I could fuck you through my matress and the floor below us’_ kind of hulk like brute sexual strength that is just every lady’s weakness…and you know, the Irish accent, final nail in the coffin…”

She offered, looking to his eyes as she finished speaking. Seeing his eyes were terribly amused, dark sapphire blue, echoing the light shade they once were, shaded under the brim of his dark hair. As his ‘slow melting grin’ grew more entertained.

“ _That’s_ your opinion of me?” He asked.

“More, how I think other women percieve you..” She answered.

“Hm.” He smiled. “Very eye opening…” He smiled.

“Is your ego nice and boosted, now, Prick?” She cooed, rolling her eyes at him.

He tilted his head in a laughing nod, grinning that toothy smile that made her sex clench.

“And for your information, No. I don’t have any hidden piercings. Below my belt, or otherwise.”

“I _really_ don’t want to think about what’s below your belt…”

She snubbed, doing a grand job of looking repulsed. Inwardly, _She would have very much liked to know. She’d give her front teeth for such a pleasure…_

“Well. Earlier, you didn’t mind what was under it to the back. You _happily_ gawked at _that_..I saw you check me out in the mirror…” He winked flirtily as he moved off.

“Ooh, look. Customers..” She distracted, sliding away.

She flushed a little, drinking the last few dregs of her hot tea. Seeing a excitable gaggle of women slide in through the doors, looking at her friend Tom, like he was a triple choclate cake, and they were all coming off lent. A slight flare of jealously rippled through her gut. Before she caught sight of the clock. Ten to four, best she get home and change. She was meeting Zach from work, here tonight for drinks, before he took her out to dinner. And she needed a bath and a change out of her work clothes before she met him at six.

“See you at six, _Prick._ Have my usual on standby.”

Elizabeth winked as she slung her bag on her arm and swayed away. He watched her go with a smile, before the women who just came in, vyed and fussed for his attention round by the bar.

“Oh, and Zach’s too. We’re stopping here for drinks before he takes me out for dinner…” She smiled, moving off.

His face dropped for a second at that. Behind her when she couldn’t see him. He hated the man she had been dating for almost a year now. He was smarmy, driven by greed and money, and looked down his nose on anyone who earned less than he, the golden prince of wall street, did. But, men with money and power, he supposed, could keep her safe. Could give her all the things he couldn’t. So, for her sake, his silence was his penance. Even though, dare Tom say, but he was madly in love with her.

He re-summoned his smile for when she turned back to face him.

“Your keen servant, _Pet_.”

He called back, seeing she stuck her tongue out funnily at him over her shoulder. He watched her go, even after she left the bar, and got a cab on the street. He watched after where she had been long after she’d gone. He was not going to be able to stop thinking about _that man’s_ cologne on her for anything in the world, tonight.

Tom sighed, after she’d gone. Shoulders slumping, as he slapped down his dish drying rag on the bar.

 

His life was turning out to be a fine mess, if ever he saw one.

 

~

 


End file.
